


look to the stars

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (javert's brain is working against him while he sleeps), Fantasizing, M/M, Madeleine Era, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Javert has procured enough evidence to convince himself and Paris of Madeleine's true identity, he has yet to denounce the man. There is a time and a place for everything, or so he tells himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	look to the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelilnan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/gifts).



> Inspired by [this](http://media.tumblr.com/0bb57e0a4ce84d60d3d1dc7113770063/tumblr_inline_mo8hxkVBLt1qz4rgp.png).

The dream is nonsensical, as most dreams are.

It begins in his office at the prefecture, then abruptly shifts to Valjean's spartan home with no feasible explanation for how he came to be there.

Oh, he knows well enough that the saintly M. le Maire is exactly the man he suspected him of truly being that day of the wrecked cart. His exposure is all a matter of timing.

Or so Javert tells himself.

In this scenario, Valjean seems agitated. After a few minutes of vague discussion, he bares the wrists he has kept hidden for so very long and Javert can see the mottling of scar tissue marking him as the convict he himself has chased for nigh on a decade.

Strangely enough, Javert feels no compulsion to act on Valjean's sudden vulnerability.

Instead, when the man offers to come quietly in exchange for the promise that the daughter of that prostitute from the docks is seen to, Javert shakes his head.

"You are a good mayor," he declares, uncertain as to why he feels overwarm under the intensity of the look Valjean levels at him. "Taking you from this place would do more harm than good to all its citizens."

He swallows as Valjean seems to grapple with the power of speech; the intimidating figure he cuts as Madeleine replaced with a weary man pushed beyond even Jean le Cric's legendary endurance.

Javert stares at the planes of Valjean's face. He has always admired the man, but more or less in the way a gentleman might admire a fine working stallion.

There is a tension in the air, and he notices that it feels strangely familiar. Perhaps increased in its intensity from before.

Valjean is staring at him again, and Javert feels flayed open; as though the power of that gaze alone can strip the flesh from his bones, revealing the weak, frightened heart sheltered within his ribs.

He glances down, wondering if he will see said traitorous organ beating frantically within its cage, but of course, there is nothing. Merely the blue of his uniform.

There is a hand on his forearm, and Javert startles terribly.

The fire roaring to all-encompassing life within him dwarfs the friendly flames in the grate of Valjean's hearth. He wonders if he'll burn alive.

_What have I done? Sweet Jesus, what have I done?_

"Thank you," says Valjean, that low voice falling against the sensitive shell of his ear.

Javert shakes his head almost frantically. No, he does not deserve thanks. He is betraying the very law that he has served so faithfully all these years. And for the basest reasons.

"There is more to the law than justice," Valjean has pressed closer, soft lips brushing against the skin at the bolt of his jaw. "It, too, can be tempered with mercy."

Javert wonders dazedly if he has ever been this aware of his own body and yet unable to control how it responds to the warmth of Valjean's form.

He frantically clutches the powerful forearms moving to bracket his body, then shudders when his hips nudge back against the edge of Valjean's table.

"Please..." he doesn't even know what he is pleading for.

Valjean makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds almost like pain.

Javert clenches his eyes shut, then moans in shock as warm lips press against the vulnerable hollow beneath his jaw where his heartbeat pounds frantically.

"Peace," Valjean whispers against his feverish skin. "Peace."

The dream melts away in a scalding rush of white heat and Javert lurches upward in his bed, panting as though in pursuit of a criminal.

Sweat stands out on every inch of his body, glistening in the faint light of the shrouded moon filtering in through his open window.

He shifts his legs, then flinches at the drag of wet cloth against his abdomen. He glances down, then winces upon finding evidence of his shame. His trousers are sticky between his legs, and traces of his spend stand out on the trembling skin of his belly.

Javert covers his face with a broad hand, then exhales shakily. He ought to feel debased, ashamed beyond explanation. Instead, he feels almost relieved.

The memory of the relief on Valjean's face is as clear as it was in the dream, and he feels unaccountably satisfied for putting it there. He dislikes the notion of actively causing someone pain.

He swallows thickly, then gives a startled groan as his unruly prick gives a small twitch when he cannot cease thinking of the warmth of Valjean's lips against his feverish skin.

In a fit of pique, he violently strips his soiled trousers off and tosses them to the floor, turning to curl on his side on the small bed. He fists both hands in the thin coverlet, exhaling harshly through his nose.

_What has become of me?_


End file.
